Coup de Grace
by Half fried egg roll
Summary: Mortred, A Sister of the Veil, embarks for her next kill. A routine task, except when she begins to remember who she truly is. Will she accept what she has become? Or try to salvage the past?
1. A new mark

**Chapter 1- A New Mark**

She stood on her balcony, and stared out into the darkness at the range of endless mountains. Her pitch-black hair flew as a stormy wind billowed past her; a blizzard was coming. Her eyes were wide open and they stretched as far as the expanse in front of her. Her pet raven, Dust, perched on the beam of her balcony, snapping her out of her vacant trance. As she understood it, the Elder Sister had summoned her. Had the Veil chosen another soul for death?

She had no identity. Her mind was completely blank when it came to her past, except for some snippets. She knew that she was an artist for the Sisters of the Veil, and she remembered what the Elder Sister called her, though she couldn't help but be repulsed by the name. She could also remember some little things…like the splatters of blood that stained her cloak after finishing each masterpiece; her marks' pleas of mercy -hundreds of them- as she drove her scythe through their helpless bodies; and the noble king of Riftwillow, an abusive mine digger, a poor beggar…

Dust broke the silence with a shrill caw and the pale assassin turned around to start walking to the Temple of Xerinin, their patron goddess, in the center of the castle. She picked up her ceremonial scythe as she walked out of the chamber and to the temple. The scythe had psionic runes inscribed on its blade, a symbol that it had bonded with her and it was so sharp that even the slightest touch to the blade was enough to draw blood.

* * *

As she reached the temple, the tall doors creaked open and she walked in.

"Ah…Mortred, you heard my summons," a tall and mysterious woman clad in a white cloak spoke from a dark corner. She clenched her fists at the sound of that name. _Mortred…_that wasn't her name; it was what was given to her…forced upon her.

"The Phantom Veil has shown me the next soul for divination," The woman moved out of the shadows as she spoke, and revealed herself; it was the Elder Sister. Mortred bowed down and held her blade up. Writing mystically appeared on its handle- writing only the Sisters could grasp. It was the name of her next victim. She could feel the line between the real world and the Veil blur for a moment.

"I'll leave you alone. Pay your tributes to the Goddess," The Elder Sister said. Mortred was one of the deity's most favored devotees. So deep was her faith in Xerinin that the assassin's deity would bend the shadows to assist her in times of dire need. It wasn't clear if this was a result of her sheer skill at remaining unseen, or a blessing of the Goddess, but it wasn't Xerinin that chose her targets; it was the Veil. The Elder Sister merely blessed Mortred and released her.

She bent down in front of the altar and prayed internally. _May your shadows keep me, may eyes look through me, and yours be upon me._ She felt a gust of wind brush through her hair and her garments. Was it a sign of approval? As she got up, Mortred spotted a ruby necklace on the ground next to the altar. Out of curiosity, she reached down and picked it up.

_Promise me..._

_Promise…_

The strange voice echoed in her head as she inspected the necklace; but it disappeared just as soon it started. She shrugged it off as some of her mind's ramblings and walked back to her chambers, the necklace still in her hand. She wasn't sure why she took it with her, but it helped her to think of other things besides killing and blood.

Once back in her chambers, she donned her black cloak and put on her leather shoulder-guards. Both garments were vestments that the Sisters of the Veil would wear when they had to leave for a kill. No armor was required; no fancy boots, nothing of any grandeur- just simple garments that ensured their loyalty to the Veil. She tightened her back strap, and the belts pressed painfully against her initiation tattoo: a single eye, with branches emerging from it. It was the symbol of the Phantom Veil.

"Mmh!" She whimpered in pain. One of the few memories she still had was receiving that tattoo from the Elder Sister. She hung her scythe on the strap, concealed it with her cloak and pulled up her hood. The howling of the wind that blew through the cracks of her balcony door caused her to shudder. She noticed that it was snow heavily outside, but despite the weather, she had to go on. She had no choice. Dust cawed at her, signaling that he was ready to move with her and she climbed down the spiral stairs, walking with a deadly elegance toward the main doors. Her target resided in the distant, yet grand city of Straganhald.

A marathon awaited her.

* * *

After walking for about 2 hours, she approached the humble town of Stonepeak, named after the enormous mountain it stood at the foot of. It was a small establishment, merely a passage point for traders. However, the residents knew stories about the Sisters, as their homes were close to the castle. The people would say that by just seeing them pass by, shades in the dark, would freeze any ordinary human in place. They had many names for the sisters: "Shadow-steppers", "Black Hands", but the most common was "Phantom Assassins", after witnessing some of their handiwork.

The snow was up to Mortred's shin as she dredged along. Her high boots kept her feet dry, but it also made walking next to impossible. If only she could run light-footed, the way that elves did! Along with having trouble walking, it was also difficult to keep an eye on Dust, who was acting as her guide to Straganhald. She entered the town and walked towards a barely lit lantern. The sign next to it read "The Carriage Flagon" – the town's tavern. Dust perched on it and set to work with picking snow out of his feathers as she walked inside. The barman looked up from his task at the noise of the door opening.

"Lost are we?" He asked with a chuckle. "What can I get for you, missy?" He mistook Mortred for another traveler, and she couldn't help but pause for a moment at the sound of his rather kind voice. She rarely heard the voices of other humans, except for those of the Elder Sister and her victims. She simply pointed to a loaf of bread, and took a seat in the corner.

"Nothing to drink eh? I'll just get you some water then!" She didn't reply to the barman's offer, and took the opportunity of silence to look around. The tavern was rather empty; only two carriage riders were arguing over the weather and trade rates going haywire. A youth, who had clearly had a pint too much, sat at the bar swaying his head around. After looking around for a few minutes, he spotted her. It was rare to see a woman of her poise and form in these parts, and he couldn't help but stare at her and let out a whistle. She lifted her head, let her hood drop back and fixed the man with a piercing gaze with her phantasmal green eyes. He turned pale, as if he had seen a ghost, dropped his mug, and rushed out of the tavern in fear. Mortred allowed him to leave…with his limbs intact…this time. She pulled her hood back.

The barman brought her bread and a mug of water, and left, sensing that she wasn't up to talking.

The hot bread warmed her from the inside and after she finished her meal, she closed her eyes and tried to catch up on her sleep…

* * *

_The next morning…_

Mortred was awoken again by a strange dream.

_You'll come back…_

_Promise…_

As she glanced down at the ruby necklace hanging from her neck, the same voice from the day before came back. The sky outside was still dark, but at least the snow had stopped. She needed to keep moving. As she started for her destination, she walked downhill and away from the jagged Stonepeak. It was much easier to walk through the snow, despite the weight of her weapon. She could also see Dust clearly and together, they both covered a considerable amount of distance.

Mortred kept to the trees, and made sure that she remained unseen. Many bandits lined the roads she was traveling. She hated unnecessary killing; in her mind, only the ones marked for death were worthy to feel her art. She moved like a blur, something people would catch with the corner of their eyes, but dismiss as a passing bird or the billowing wind.

"Hey!" A young bandit called to his superiors. He had felt something rush past him closely.

"What? What did you see this time?" A bearded bandit asked who had awoken from his slumber at the sound of the cry.

"Something went by here," the first bandit said, looking around.

"You've had too much to drink," another bandit grumbled. "It was just that crow passing by. Now, keep watch; we need to collect some more toll for this road."

* * *

_One day later…_

After travelling through endless passes and pine forests, lurking and hiding in the shadows, she had reached a crossroads. A paved path, used by traders, would take her to Straganhald, a simple 2 day trek to the front gate.

The second choice, however, was through the Blackfrost woods. The woods were dark with bogs and high grass that would be difficult to walk through. Getting lost wasn't what fazed her, however; after all, she had Dust to help her keep track of where she was. But…there were ageless rumors and legends of no man returning alive or with a sane mind from those woods. There were tales of a mysterious force that patrolled the forest. Some of the common folk in the area simply knew the enigma as the 'Ranger'; some traders would say that a 'Banshee' haunted the woods, fiercely guarding something. Ramblings of the few who returned talked about an impossibly beautiful woman who would freeze their bodies with a simple touch.

Mortred had always accepted her cowardice. She feared fights, especially with an enemy she knew nothing about. But at the same time, she relished them. It was a chance to prove that she could sculpt as well as paint.

With one last prayer to Xerinin, she put her trust in the shadows and ran into the woods. Dust accepted her decision and followed her to help guide her. Her heart was dancing to the beat of Fear, faster and faster, every sense painfully aware of an impending darkness...

* * *

**Author's note**

Another BIIIIG thanks to the fantastic GeorgyannWayson for beta-reading and quality checking!

Trivia for Dota 2 savvy people: Picked Magnus solo mid for myself, Mortred for our carry player. RP+Empower+Coup de grace's RnJesus 1300 crits helped her get an ultra kill and us, a lane of rax! won the match and secured a top 8 finish in the MESC tournament! XD Wrote this story the next morning!


	2. The Blackfrost woods

**Chapter 2 – The Blackfrost Woods**

She heard the loud thumps of footsteps coming close to her room and the door opened.

"Annika are you ok? Why were you screaming?" the woman stood by the door and asked. The little girl was in bed and trembling as she pulled her blanket up to her chin.

"I…I saw scary eyes outside my window," the little girl replied softly, holding back a gulp of fear.

"It's alright, it was just a nightmare," the woman said gently as she walked to the bed and sat down. She reached out and tenderly stroked the girl's black hair. "No need to be scared. We are all here, and nothing bad will happen." With a reassuring smile, the woman got up and put out the candle. The other children around them continued to sleep in peaceful silence.

The little girl felt the same chill and started trembling again. As the woman opened the door to leave, a shadow moved past her in a blink. A dagger winked in the darkness before piercing the woman's heart. As quickly as the blade stabbed her heart, the shadow withdrew it and stabbed her again in the forehead. The woman's slender body fell outside the room as the door quickly closed.

The little girl tensed up and closed her eyes; perhaps it was just another nightmare...

* * *

Mortred's heart was beating hard, like a hammer on a forge anvil. It felt as if it was about to burst out of her chest. Her footfalls were heavy as her boots sank into the marshy bog, but she kept her pace as best she could.

Thankfully, the darkness of the forest kept her movements a secret from preying eyes. The trees flashed by as she leapt from shadow to shadow. The air was…too still, too heavy for her liking. Her lungs felt like lead every time she breathed out, the fright from the stories of the forest didn't even let her stop for a second. But the air...her vision became blurry and her head started to spin as she felt as though she was being suffocated.

As Mortred moved deeper into the darkness, the air suddenly rang with a hair-raising shriek that made her blood curdle in her veins. Her eyes shifted from being narrow and focused to wide open and terrified. Another shriek tore through the woods and she swore that the sound literally pierced her bones. She didn't want to stop, but a feeling of absolute fright wracked her body and it made her freeze on the spot.

Dust circled overhead; he seemed unaffected by what was happening, and simply watched her from above. Almost instantly, a shrill whistle replaced the screams. Mortred turned her head just in time to see an arrow flying toward her. She flipped backwards and the arrow flew under her, striking a tree behind her. Black poison started to spread around the tree bark.

Another whistle rang out and she quickly drew her scythe out to block it. The vibrations from the impact made her hands shake even more. The same black substance started to spread down the blade and she swung it towards the source of the arrows. In the hopes of impaling the archer. A gust of wind rushed through the branches as her scythe missed the target. However, the shadows shifted from the trees, Mortred felt reinvigorated and she smiled.

_A blessing from Xerinin!_

A blue-skinned figure stood exposed the distance, hooded and holding up a birchwood bow. Streaks of white hair stood out against the shadows; it was the Banshee of the Blackfrost Woods. The sight of her was oddly calming, but at the same time…it was terrifying.

Somehow, Mortred had to defend herself without her scythe. She tried to ease her breathing, and suppress the unnatural fear. But it was too difficult , another gust of wind made the Banshee disappear. As Mortred made a move to hide in shadows, she felt a gash of pain in her left arm, almost as if a chilling hand had grabbed it and tore at the flesh. She looked to see that an arrow had grazed her arm and she felt the poison start to spread.

She tried to spot the Banshee through the darkness, but all she could only see were the leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Under her breath, she started to pray to the Goddess once again. The shapes around her began to shift and shuffle as the afternoon sun began to sink.

With the shadows moving in her favor, she could see the Banshee move along the branches at blinding speed, but her eyes were able to keep up with the pace. From his position in the sky, Dust also started following the Banshee's movements. Mortred pulled out her dagger from a sheath in her belt, but before she could aim and throw, another arrow zoomed through the air. She narrowly dodged it, and felt the fear that has settled in her stomach disappear in anger. Finally she took in a deep breath.

The next whistle in the air was the sound of her dagger tearing through the stillness of the forest. The Banshee moved in time to avoid it hitting her heart, but it gouged her stomach instead. Her body fell to the bog below, and the poison started retreating from Mortred's wound and scythe, its blade shimmered with a blue mist, it hungered for blood. In a blink, Mortred moved with unnatural speed to where the scythe had fallen and on top of the paralyzed Banshee's back. No shrieks left her mouth; her hand couldn't reach her bow and the arrows laid broken under her. She lifted her head up, but Mortred quickly pushed it back into the muck with her boot. The Banshee's smooth features and flowing white hair were unrecognizable from the mud and filth of the ground.

Though her injured arm wasn't much help to her at that moment, it didn't stop her from planning the execution of the Banshee beneath her. _A strike just under the jaw line driving it through the jugular; through the spine and out…the perfect beheading. _

Fear had finally deserted her, she was now the one driving it into the hapless Ranger's mind.

She lifted her scythe, but a voice stopped her.

_Promise me you'll come back; you have to! You must remember!_

She saw a vision, as her eyes fell on the ruby necklace again.

It was her as a child. A young man held her close, his cheeks streaked with tears. A tall figure stood, watching in silence. She heard the man calling her name, but the vision began to fade and wither away...

Mortred's scythe stopped midway in shock of what she had seen. The Banshee took the distraction as an opportunity, and quickly moved out from under her opponent, kicking Mortred in her gut. With a wave of her hand, the Banshee summoned another gust of wind and Mortred flew through the air, colliding against a tree trunk. She looked back up and saw that her victim had retreated into the woods.

She got to her feet and looked to Dust for guidance on where to go next. The sun had set; she had to rest. The heaviness of the forest air, however, had lifted, so at least she felt as though she was taking in a good breath. A cooling bead of sweat streaked down her temple as she began to search for a place to rest.

* * *

Dust led her to shimmering waterfall a short distance away. Mortred was grateful; it felt as though she had entered an oasis. She unwrapped her bloodied and cloak from around her, laid it to the side, and released the shoulder guard that protected her injury. She pulled out her dagger, her actions paused in anticipation of the pain that was about come. She started to carve away the hideous blackened flesh. The pain rippled down her whole body, but it was necessary; she couldn't let the poison spread. After the pain dulled, she sheathed her dagger and scythe and undid the buckles of her strap. Setting them on her cloak, finally she took off the last layer of garments, and untied her boots.

Mortred stepped into the small lake. She closed her eyes; the sounds of the waterfall eased her tired muscles. The cool water ran through her hair and down her naked body, causing her tattoo and newly-formed wound to gently burn. As the moon set itself proudly on the sky's pedestal, Mortred tried to remember her vision again.

The man…who was he? Who or what was the figure standing behind them? Dust cawed and briefly broke her train of thought. _Just another day to Straganhald,_ she thought to herself as she enjoyed the fleeting moment of tranquil peace.

* * *

So Georgy went through this marathon session and Beta-read two chapters at once *Achievement Unlocked* I must say! As usual, thanks Georgy!


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